Spirit Alive

One of my earliest childhood memories is of young men carrying young martyrs, wrapped in white cloth and the Palestinian flag. Pause. Look at his laid body being carried away over the shoulders of these young men, and his rosy bluish face, still fresh in his flesh, no longer capable of walking his legs, beating his heart, blinking his eyes, or moving his tongue.

 We were there, in our school uniforms protesting and chanting for Philasṭīn, min al-mayyeh lal mayyeh.” Our homeland, our livelihood, our bloodline.

Every year, apartheid crept further into our existence. Even our belonging became questionable! How are we, with roots over ten thousand years deep, being questioned about our right to exist on our land, Philasṭīn?

Ask the land, and she’ll tell you about the hands that planted the groves of date palms, bananas, stretched grapevines, and pomegranates; the coastal oranges, guavas, figs, mulberries, and olives; the land’ll tell you about the hands that picked the prickly pear fruits, and shaped the domes of each village.

The rocks will speak their message.

The stones will tell their stories. 

The land knows them, and so can you. 

From the river to the sea, martyrs. Their bloods flow between the sands, soils, and stones, into the water, transcend the air, pave the way, alive, they remain; in our hearts, minds, memory, and the memory of the land.

We remain, 14 million strong across the seven oceans, over six million refugees, on the land of the free; more than 2.2 million living in the Gaza Strip, at the frontline of a genocidal campaign; 3.4 million in the West Bank; 2 million inside 1948; and half a million in the capital, al-Quds.

Gathering

Gathering self

pieces of flesh

scattered

over the ground

of my homeland

flooding

in mourning

in blood

we land

morning again

a gain in loss

my soul flocks

tender heart in shock

my feet carry the weight

walk the hallowed path

gathering remains

an afterlife before my eyes

memory intertwines

stitching strength

determined to win

We sing our songs for our spirit. We live with our faith, leading destiny, we birth, plant seeds, and cultivate; we harvest and reap the fruits of our labor; we liberate, and celebrate our freedom.   

 We are witnesses to the genocides being committed that are largely funded by the U.S. government, with tax dollar money, and supported by the cowards of the earth, the scum, the evils, and the demons that chase the criminals, in Life, and in Hell! 

To the strawberry fields and the garden of every home they tried to uproot from the south to the north and the east and west, we are witnesses.

& Philasṭīn wallada!

The paintings respectively:

“Gathering”

30” x 40” (76 cm x 102 cm)

oil on canvas

2018

“A Self Portrait”

24” x 36” (60.96 cm x 91.44 cm)

oil on canvas

2016

“Rising”

16” x 20” (40.64 cm x 50.8 cm)

oil on canvas

2016